


Control

by Alethia



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-26
Updated: 2005-07-26
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually, when he allowed himself to think of getting Veronica Mars on a flat surface and having a go, it all started with a plan to get Veronica Mars on a flat surface.</p>
<p><i>This</i> had started with no plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> Set after season 1. Originally posted on LJ [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/145163.html).

Usually, when he allowed himself to think of getting Veronica Mars on a flat surface and having a go, it all started with a plan to get Veronica Mars on a flat surface.

_This_ had started with no plan. Logan was planless and so it really wasn’t fair.

First they were talking—during which Logan did an admirable job at _not_ imagining peeling her clothes off, all the more impressive when he considered that he was a seventeen year-old boy and Veronica was about as enticing a cherry as he could possibly pluck.

Then they were kissing and _she_ had started that one, shoving him— _hard_ —into the couch and climbing on top of him using her wily, petite, blonde, secret agent skills.

Granted, he _was_ the one who’d hauled her up and carried her to a bed, but again, she was wily; she distracted him with her deliciously wicked tongue, as she always did in a wide range of situations. He hadn’t thought anything of dumping her on the bed and getting down to it.

It occurred there might have been a flaw in his plan. Non-plan. Whatever.

Because Veronica hadn’t done _this_ before, not really, and though she was losing clothes fast as a “dancer” at any upper-crust gentlemen’s club….underneath there was some serious shit going on.

Not that he was complaining when she pulled away to slip out of her shirt, flinging it to Logan’s floor to join its friends.

“And the tacky, I-should-have-been-Gwen-Stefani punk rocker shirt goes a flyin’.”

“Must be your lucky day,” she murmured against his mouth, tongue cutting off any retort he could have formulated had all available blood not fled south. It could have been a brilliant, zinging, paint-stripping comeback, but eh. Better things to do with his concentration.

It was probably a good thing anyway. His tongue got him in much less trouble when it was doing _this_.

He’d probably have to eat those words when the paternity suits started flying in, but for now…

Logan hmmed into the kiss, appreciating all Duncan’s lessons for a bit before being thrust out of that—frankly disturbing—line of thought by her fingers plucking rather insistently at his shirt.

Hmm.

“What, do I offend?” But she wasn’t even listening, just took the opportunity to pull off his shirt, pressing up against him with a naughty little smile that he was going to _dream_ about _for the rest of his existence_. Things down south were definitely perking up and taking notice.

Not that it took that much effort.

Thing was—and he wasn’t complaining, not when he got to run hands _all over_ Veronica, teasing shivers out of her pale skin—this wasn’t her typical m.o. In fact, her typical m.o. had been to swear off all men, keeping a five-foot “safe” distance between her body and anything that could be male.

Logan was pretty sure Wallace was miffed. And how she managed with that dog of hers…

And, granted, it meant he knew exactly where Duncan was and was not allowed…

But that wasn’t the point. Because Veronica generally didn’t go jumping on guys, despite what Dick (and he) used to say. Said. Whatever.

She rolled them over, grinning again when she reassessed her position, sitting purposefully _right where he needed_. Logan groaned and threw an arm over his eyes, unable to bear the sight of Veronica Mars rubbing into him. The feel of it was quite enough.

He hadn’t come in his pants since he was fifteen and it wasn’t a streak he had any intention of breaking. No matter what lengths Veronica drove him to.

And if this was an attempt to wipe all rational thought from this situation, well, it was very effective. Surprise, surprise.

She laughed, bright but humorless, and a bit of that earlier speculation seeped back into Logan. She was distracting, leaning down to nuzzle at the arm still flung over his eyes.

Hmm.

“What, our resident Sex God—a virtual Bacchus from the tales out and about—can’t even stand to watch?” she asked, tone biting.

He sighed dramatically. “Well, I _was_ involved in a hot and heavy with Carmen Electra but now that you’ve _ruined_ that particular fantasy…”

“Mmmm, easy, vacant, blond—”

“Bottle blond,” he corrected, finally dropping his arm and looking, getting a purposeful hand in her hair and making a point of it.

“Like I was saying, just your type,” she finished, grinning as she again caught him up in an addictive kiss, not sickly candy-sweet like so many others. She was _real_ and she even tasted it.

So why she was bothering with him, poster-child for the Hollywood façade…

Her hands abruptly left his skin and he made a disappointed noise, opening the eyes that had managed to drift shut in all their tonsil hockey, seeing Veronica skillfully unbuckling her belt and—

Whoa.

Logan couldn’t make himself protest the revelation of _even more_ skin but—

This was so not like the uptight, holier-than-thou, clutching-to-her-the-last-vestiges-of-a-manufactured-virginity Veronica Mars with whom he’d been familiar.

Very, very familiar.

Logan must have looked like he was thinking exactly that because after stripping off those deliciously tight black pants—and _damn_ , there was an image to last him many happy nights—she actually _smirked_. Like, a Logan type of smirk and that was so not cool.

They were his, dammit.

“What, you never seen a girl in her underwear before?”

“No, just impressed that you’ve moved on from your sensible virginal panties to something more fun for everyone,” he said, fingering the thin band of elastic at her hip.

She looked at him, almost defensive, not that he could tell with that distance she was seriously working. “Nothing else works with these pants.”

Logan pointed to himself. “Me? Not complaining,” he said with a smirk. And ha! Take that, quasi-Veronica.

“Mmm, I’ve trained him so _well_ ,” she said, climbing back on his lap, trailing light fingers over his shoulders.

He snorted. “Yeah, it was all you. Besides, that would imply some sort of contact, you know, other than your stock verbal barbs.” His hands instinctively cradled her hips, fingers pressing in to feel smooth skin and bone.

“And I thought you liked my barbs,” she said, _shifting_ —and what was that, muscle memory? Because damn if his eyes didn’t roll back, heat flush through him.

She stopped and Logan groaned, flexing his hands against her now-still hips. “I think someone just got a new nickname,” he panted out, resisting the urge to screw it all, flip her over and take what he wanted. “Barbie has such a nice ring to it.”

She leaned down, looking straight at him, veneer breaking just a touch. “You know all those lives I’ve ruined? Child’s play, _practice_ , for what I can do to you. I will ruin you.”

“You’re doing a fine job so far.” No, that was not desperation in his voice. He wasn’t that gone, and especially not from a little virginal girl.

Veronica smiled once before using her position to again latch onto his mouth, finger sliding up his abs and over, nail scratching at a nipple.

Logan hissed, shifting under her and wincing at the tightness of his pants. Decision made, he rolled them over, slipping off the bed while still managing to run his hands over the length of her legs. Nice.

And he was pretty impressed with that move, actually.

Veronica said nothing, propping herself up on her forearms and watching with a quirked, challenging eyebrow. Not that she was watching his hands, though. Rather she was focused right on his face.

Hmm.

He smirked and dropped said pants _and_ boxers, thanking his good judgment for wearing his Rainbows this morning, those slipped off without a thought.

She still said nothing and Logan kicked everything off, prancing back to the bed. “More than you expected?” he asked pointedly, knee pressing into the mattress as he waited for some clue where to go.

Veronica looked up—and yes, finally, a reaction—cheeks flushed, mouth red. It was a look that normally would have him on a woman without hesitation, stoking that passion, satisfying his own. But with her it was different and that difference made him stop. It was the first time she’d actually acted like the virgin she was and—

Her hand grabbing his arm and hauling him down cut off that thought and Logan let himself fall onto her—gently—with an obscene whisper of skin against skin and a mingled groan.

Then their lips were as entangled as their limbs and Logan found himself sinking into the sensation of her bare skin on his, her hair as he angled her head, her mouth as she let him.

Here her inexperience showed—the way she reacted just a second too slowly, just the slightest hesitation, the almost-shy way she ran her hands down his back.

Logan kissed her through it, fingers automatically unclasping her bra. He didn’t miss the shiver as he pulled it off, tossing it aside carelessly. He kissed her again, tongue twisting against hers before breaking off, sucking random kisses as he moved down her chin, neck.

He spent some time on her collarbone, laving that place that always drove him crazy when he looked at her. _This_ apparently did the same; he chuckled as she squirmed against him. Logan shifted over to her side, letting a hand fall to the inside of her thigh, fingers stroking as his mouth moved lower, licking at the underside of her breast. He traced his tongue up to the tip just as his fingers pressed against her, making her jump and shiver at the same time.

Logan loved this, the slow build, making a woman go out of her mind with wanting it. Hard and hot and fast like Lilly had liked was good, too. But this was Veronica and he wanted her to have some good memories of this one.

Or even actual memories, but that was another thought for another time.

Still, he wondered if it was kosher to think of his dead ex as he wetted his fingers from her best friend. Probably not.

Teeth scraped her nipple and she started moaning, canting hips up and trying to get more of his hand.

Definitely eager and he tried not to grin as he pulled off her much-commented-upon thong, hindered more than not by Veronica’s squirming. But he was okay with that. Because of all the things he expected to be doing on a Tuesday afternoon, removing Veronica Mars’ underwear was not one of them.

Imagined, maybe. Fantasized, definitely. Expected? Not in his world. And Logan was used to getting what he wanted, so that was saying something.

His world and the real world were turning out to be vastly different places. In his, a lot of people hadn’t died, left, whatever. On the other hand, no sex with Veronica Mars.

Logan wasn’t even going to try and decide which he preferred.

Veronica shifted again, settled, and oh yeah, naked woman. Logan fingered her hair for a beat, committing this moment to memory, the slightest hint of reticence in her eyes, quickly covered again by that damned distance.

He leaned in for a kiss, hand skating up and down her body, taking in angles and fewer, smaller curves than they were used to. He curled his hand on her hip and banished those kinds of thoughts.

Veronica parted her legs slightly and Logan grinned, taking that as an invitation and sliding his hand up, up, finding no resistance this time, none beyond wide eyes.

Two fingers pressed _in_ , sliding easily into wet heat, and he used his thumb to tease her, see how he could make her breath catch.

Logan shifted and turned, straining his back a bit and ignoring it just as easily, getting a hand in his bedside drawer.

Condoms easy to find and that was one thing for which to be thankful, one not entirely unhappy result of his slut days.

Logan crooked his fingers in her and generally distracted, getting the rubber on one-handed and shifting himself in between her legs. She accommodated him almost automatically and whoa. He was about to fuck Veronica Mars. And he didn’t even know why.

That thought got shoved to the side, too, as he pulled his fingers out and lined himself up. He paused, catching her gaze, smirking. “Where no man has gone before,” he intoned dramatically, pausing as she winced.

And he really—hadn’t meant it like that. It was a joke, it was supposed to lighten things.

“Something to remember, then.” And God did he need to shut up. Logan kissed her in apology, soft. She arched up and kissed back and he supposed that made it okay. Maybe.

Not that he could ever tell.

He flexed inside her on a breath, feeling her gasp from inside out. Logan dropped his head against hers, closing his eyes. He concentrated on keeping himself propped up, on _not_ losing it like a virgin himself—and wouldn’t that be a disaster, two virgins pawing at each other? He clung to the edge and wow, didn’t that bring up an unfortunate thought of his mother.

Like that he was in control again—no small thanks to his incredibly fucked up brain—the desperate urge to come retreating, forced back by what remained of control. It was only evident in this part of his life, of course, and that was why he was so good.

It was all about priorities.

Logan opened his eyes, watching her as he experimentally thrust, watching as she arched and thrust back, feeling her fingers dig into his shoulders.

She kept her eyes firmly closed as he sped up and something niggled.

Banter. Inscrutable behavior. Distance. Determination. That ever-present _why_.

And now this.

Hmm.

Logan stopped. It practically took an act of God, but he did. An impressive feat, really, but then, he was impressive. Too bad no one could admire him for it.

But back to the truly fucked up girl under him.

“Veronica.” She didn’t move, open her eyes, react in any way.

Not. Cool.

“Veronica,” he said again, insistent.

Nothing.

He switched tactics, leaning down and glossing a chaste kiss across her lips, a monstrous juxtaposition next to the fact that he was still _hard_ and inside her. “Hey,” he whispered against her mouth.

That did it. She opened her eyes, looked back into his, and let out a shaky breath.

Fuck.

“You okay?” he asked, gratuitously he thought, but what else do you say? He stroked a thumb against her jaw, ignoring the way his arms started to ache.

“Yeah,” she finally answered, loosening her grip on his shoulders.

“Veronica…”

“I didn’t mean for it to be like—that,” she continued quickly, as if excising it. “I thought it could be…easy.”

Easy. Meaningless. Fun. All words that _used_ to apply to sex, that _used_ to apply to his life.

Logan kissed her again, running soothing hands up her sides. “There’s no 'getting it over with' in this,” he said, direct. Gentle, too.

“So I’m learning,” she said, half-rueful, half-winded.

“Stop trying.” He would not give in to her. He would not give in to her.

This time _she_ pulled _him_ down, the kiss an apology, the hand in his hair an insistence.

He gave in, sinking down and letting himself feel it, feel how much he still wanted her, screwed up as they both were. He shifted and she stilled, legs coming up to squeeze his hips.

“Since I’m already here…” he trailed off, using his “charmingly-sexy” grin.

“Since you’ve gone to such _great lengths_ ,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically.

“Yeah, that’s it _exactly_ ,” he grunted, thrusting shallowly into her. She gasped and tensed, but this time when she looked up at him there was affection there. And all from what? Calling her on it?

They were so fucked up.

But. He might as well enjoy it.

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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